


Satin and Lace

by SamoanSexGodReigns



Series: Kinktober 2018 [11]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Do not post to another site, Established Relationship, Kinktober 2018, M/M, Oral Sex, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 12:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21015995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamoanSexGodReigns/pseuds/SamoanSexGodReigns
Summary: Dean's got a secret. Roman finds out. Things happen.





	Satin and Lace

**Author's Note:**

> Reworked an old unfinished fic for this one. I'm not sure if I'm happy with it or not, but here ya go!

Dean Ambrose likes to wear panties. He likes the way the different materials, the silk and satin, and lace, feel like decadence against his skin. He likes the way they cup his cock and balls with reverent hands and the way his dick looks hard and leaking and pressed tight against the lush material. Whatever, it’s no big deal. Except for the fact that it is a big deal, a _huge_ deal, even. It’s a deep dark secret that he keeps buried under a dozen layers of bravado, and that simultaneously thrills and terrifies him. You see, Dean isn’t necessarily the type of guy that you’d expect to wear women’s panties on a regular basis, and if people found out, it would totally ruin the badass image he’s been cultivating his entire life. So, it’s a secret that he guards with the utmost dedication, care, and precision. It certainly hasn’t been easy, what with all the shared locker and hotel rooms his occupation has required of him over the years but every hidden brush of silk, every secret press of lace makes the anxiety worth it. 

His secret becomes infinitely harder to hide when he starts dating Roman. Not only do they share locker rooms and hotel rooms, but at any moment Roman could potentially make a move that would ruin everything. He’s always just one misplaced, groping hand away from disaster. He manages to keep his secret under wraps for a lot longer than he expected, but deep down, Dean always knew that it was only a matter of time before Roman found out about his little fetish, and he’s been dreading the inevitable confrontation from the moment they got together. 

In the end, it’s something as innocuous as an out of place pair of socks that does him in. 

They’re in some nameless hotel in some unknown town that’s just another stop on the long list of forgettable places they travel to for work and Dean’s rummaging through his duffle bag looking for the extra pair of socks he _knows_ that he packed. He’s muttering obscenities to himself as he paws through the bag, moving things aside and pulling things out because damn it, he knows those socks are in here somewhere. He finally finds them, caught up in the legs of yesterday’s jeans, but his victory is short-lived because when he turns around, elusive socks clutched in hand, he finds Roman staring down at the floor in shock. That’s when he sees them, lying there next to his feet, bright red and mocking, is a pair of Dean’s panties. 

It’s like he’s caught in the black vacuum of space as all the air leaves his body, and his heart freezes in his chest as he joins Roman in staring at the scrap of lace on the floor. Then the panic really sets in, and whereas before everything had seemed to move at half-speed now it’s as if the universe hit fast-forward. In a flash, he bends over and retrieves the traitorous garment before turning around and shoving it to the bottom of his bag, and safely out of sight. Not that it matters now. 

“Dean,” the sound of Roman taking a deep breath before he goes on, “what were those?”

“You know what they were.” He bites out, venom dripping from every syllable. His heart is racketing around in his chest, and his breaths are coming quick and choppy as the wall in front of him begins to funhouse mirror blur. He hasn’t been able to brave a second look at Roman’s stunned face, not wanting to see it twist into disgust and, so he stares at the wall, body tense as he waits for the guillotine to drop and imagines the worst. In his mind, the situation can only end in one of two ways – neither of which is very good for him. Option one: Roman tells Dean that he’s some kind of perverted freak and breaks up with him before storming out and never coming back and then there’s option two: which is exactly the same as option one only Roman decides to throw a few punches before leaving Dean in a humiliated puddle on the shitty hotel carpet. He’s ready for it when Roman’s hand lands on his shoulder, and he jerks away from Roman’s touch, spinning on his heel with fists raised and ready to defend himself if he has to. Roman just raises his hands in surrender and takes a few steps back. 

“Hey, Dean, it's okay.” 

Roman’s eyes are grey and wide and large enough for Dean to fall into if he's not careful like he has so many times before. His voice is a deep soothing rumble that slides down his spine and weaves its way into embarrassment coiled muscles to slowly ease the tension there. A few moments pass while they stand there in stony silence and Dean’s heart rate starts to even out as he makes a concerted effort to slow his breathing, so he doesn’t pass out. Roman, for his part just stands there all open and understanding, concern radiating from his every pore as he swallows through the emotion building up in his throat. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Dean’s scoff is bitter, penetrating the hush of the room with its harsh tones. “How exactly was I supposed to tell you, huh? ‘Oh, and by the way Roman, I happen to really like wearing women’s panties, hope that isn’t a problem for you.’ How would you have reacted if I’d done that, huh? Because I can guarantee it wouldn’t have been all handshakes and handjobs and I didn’t – I _don’t_ want to hear about how I’m some kind of pervert because of it.” By this time his voice has lost all of the force behind it, and he ends with barely a whisper. “Not from you.”

“You won’t have to hear that, not from me, not now, and not ever.” Another beat of silence and then, “Show me.”

“What?!”

Dean’s astonishment is written all over his face, from his huge blue eyes to his gaping mouth, and it would almost be comical if Roman weren’t aware of just how important this moment was. One wrong move, one misspoken word, and that’s the end of his relationship. All that love and laughter down the drain because he couldn’t get a handle on his emotions long enough to get through a conversation without fucking it up. So, no matter how exciting the prospect of seeing Dean in those frilly red panties is, and Jesus _Christ_ is it ever, the situation has to be handled with care. He can tell that this is something very serious to Dean, that the idea of other people, more specifically Roman, finding out about this little quirk of his is absolutely terrifying. Roman wants nothing more than to comfort him, but he also wants to express exactly _how okay_ he is with Dean wearing panties. Another deep breath meant to give his body time to _get its fuckin’ act together_, and then Roman steps decidedly closer to his lover before he repeats himself with more conviction. 

“Show me, Dean. Show me what you look like in those panties.”

He can see the wheels turning in Dean’s head as he tries to process what Roman’s just said. He can see the disbelief on his face morph into first confusion and then trepidation, wondering if he can trust Roman and if a happy ending to this scenario is even feasible. He watches as Dean gnaws on his bottom lip, watches his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows, and Roman does his best not to close the space between them. He wants to take Dean into his arms and kiss him until that hurt look leaves his eyes, but Roman has to let Dean work this out for himself. It has to be his decision where they go from here. When Dean finally speaks, his words punch Roman in the dick and nearly drive him to his knees with the force of his lust. 

“I – I’m wearing a pair right now. I could – I could show you if you want.” 

He can still see the tension in Dean, in the little lines between his brows and the stiffness of his shoulders, and he knows how hard it must have been to say those words after years of keeping it a secret.

“Yeah babe, _fuck_ I’d love that.” He lets just the smallest bit of his desire spill into his response, filling his voice with gravel.

There’s the slightest moment of hesitation on Dean’s part, and then he’s pulling his t-shirt over his head and baring his muscular upper body to Roman’s hungry gaze before tossing it on top of his bag. Dean thumbs open the button of his jeans and pulls down the zipper, giving Roman a tantalizing flash of pink fabric, and his mouth goes dry at the sight, heart thudding against his ribs in anticipation. He wiggles his jeans down over his slim hips and lets them fall to the floor before kicking them away and standing there in nothing but a pair of pink panties. 

They’re sheer and lacy, one of the hipster types that sit just below the tempting jut of Dean’s hipbones and barely cover his cock. Its outline and the weight of his balls are clearly visible through the press of the fabric and when Dean slowly spins around to give Roman the complete view he sees that there’s a line of small bows on the back that start at the crack of Dean’s ass and end just below the biteable curve of it. He’s so fuckin beautiful, this perfect contrast of masculinity and femininity, and for a moment Roman just stands there in awe, completely speechless at the sight of the exquisiteness in front of him. He must stay silent for just a beat too long, though, because when Dean next speaks, he sounds desperate.

“Please, say _something_ Roman.” He crosses his arms over his stomach in a protective gesture as he stands there waiting, waiting for rejection, waiting for derision, but he’ll get none of that from Roman.

“You’re gorgeous, Dean, so fuckin’ gorgeous, I can hardly breathe.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say because he throws his arms up in frustration, takes one furious step forward, so they’re nose to nose and explodes in Roman’s face. “Look, I don’t know what you’re getting out of this, but just stop it, okay, just stop fuckin’ lying!”

Roman doesn’t allow himself to feel hurt by Dean’s surety that he’s lying even though his words slice paper-cut thin into his heart. “Dean, I would _never_ lie to you, okay, not about something like this, and never about how much you mean to me.” Roman wraps his hands around Dean’s biceps, taut muscles flexing under his palms, and he rubs over them comfortingly before sliding down and lacing their fingers together. “I love you, Dean, no matter what, and if you like to wear panties then that’s fine with me because I think you are so, _so_ beautiful like this and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you.”

He pulls Dean close, mere inches separating their bodies, and Roman can feel how tense he is, muscles clenched so tight that Dean’s a rigid line against him when he leans in to press a kiss to his brow. “I love how smart and sarcastic and witty you are.” He kisses down over the bridge of Dean’s nose to his lips, and Roman pulls the bottom one into his mouth to tease with his teeth before moving to kiss one of Dean’s dimples. 

“I love your smile and these dimples.” Down, down, down over his neck as Roman trails his tongue over Dean’s jugular in a hot wet line before sucking his collar bone against his teeth hard enough to leave little imprints of Roman’s incisors. He finally starts to feel Dean relax under his touch, and he continues his southern route until he lays the lightest of kisses just over his heart. 

“I love how kind and caring you are, your endless capacity to love despite how much you try to hide it under your gritty exterior.” And then he’s on his knees, mapping the outline of each of Dean’s abs with his tongue until he’s toying with the waistband of the panties and dipping his tongue underneath it to taste warm skin. 

Roman is on his knees for him, which is a rarity in and of itself, and it makes Dean’s heart throb sluggishly in his chest. His breath catches in his lust-jagged throat as Roman drags the flat of his tongue over the ridge of Dean’s hardening cock through the lace of his panties. The grey depths of Roman’s eyes now molten pools of quicksilver as he stares up at Dean from the kiln of his eyes. 

“I love everything about you, Dean; I love your cock and how it tastes in my mouth, love the way your ass feels when I’m deep inside you, and _I love the way you look in these panties, Dean_.” Roman suckles at the head of Dean’s prick, and his eyes roll back in his head at the attack combo of Roman’s hot mouth and the wet lace sliding against his tip. It makes Dean groan, long and deep and guttural, as he trembles under Roman’s tongue. 

“Tell me how it feels, baby; how’s my mouth feel on you?”

“Oh fuck Rome. It feels so good; your mouth is so fuckin’ good, and I love the way the lace feels sliding against my cock.” 

Roman pulls away from Dean’s cock and makes a show of licking his lips, sucking the bottom one into his mouth before smacking them together obscenely. “You’re fuckin’ drippin’ baby, so wet I can taste you through the cloth. Do you want more?” 

Dean makes some kind of unintelligible noise in the back of his throat, and Roman squeezes his length, the lace slick and soft and moving over him so fuckin’ perfect it’s got his vision going white and fuzzy. 

“Use your words, baby, if you want more you gotta tell me.”

Roman’s still running his hand over Dean’s cock, and Dean’s gut is filling with a pleasure that burns the tip of every nerve ending he has like the cherry of a cigarette. Dean thinks that maybe he won’t be able to say anything, maybe he’s so far fuckin’ gone that he’s beyond speech, but then Roman pulls the waistband of the panties down just enough to reveal his cockhead and Dean gets the first real feel of Roman’s tongue on his dick without anything separating them, just skin to skin, and the words burst out of him. “Oh God, yeah, please more. Please give me more.”

“My pleasure.” Roman says, pulling the panties down so that he can tuck the waistband underneath Dean’s balls. 

Dean’s already half-hard and curving up slightly towards his body as Roman wraps one large ring roughened hand around it and jacks it a few times to work it to full hardness before he wraps his luscious lips around the plum-shaped head. The second Roman’s mouth touches Dean’s cock; his body goes electro-shock therapy tight, and his hands dive straight into Roman’s hair as the midnight strands tangle around his fingers like spun silk. Roman sucks at the tip while teasing the underside with his tongue, and he strokes over the rest of Dean’s length with one spit-slick hand. He goes slow, easing his way down Dean’s cock one inch at a time so he can take it all without gagging, and when he has the entirety of it in his mouth Dean can see the corners of Roman’s mouth tip up in what would be a proud smile if his mouth wasn’t full of dick. 

“_Fuck_, that’s good.” 

Roman keeps it up like that, leisurely sucking Dean’s cock from tip to base in long smooth strokes as Dean’s orgasm starts to build sunny and warm in his abdomen. Dean’s always thought about what would happen when Roman found out about his preferred undergarments, and out of all the ways he’s pictured this going somehow Roman on his knees staring up at him like he’s Halley’s Comet come forty-five years early never crossed his mind. Now here it is, a reality, and the relief he feels at knowing that Roman accepts him, that Roman _loves_ him is five shots of tequila intoxicating. It doesn’t take long for the sun in his belly to go supernova as Dean shoots his load down the back of Roman’s throat. He swallows and sucks Dean through his orgasm until he’s over-sensitive and twitching and whining in the back of his throat, and only then does Roman release him with a filthy pop of lips against the head. 

In the aftermath of Hurricane Euphoria, Dean wobbles there on unsteady legs as Roman gains his feet gracefully and then pulls a blissed-out Dean into his ridiculously strong arms to kiss him stupid. One of his big hands caresses down the curve of Dean’s spine to squeeze his ass firmly, and Dean gasps into Roman’s mouth. He massages Dean’s ass, and Roman keeps kissing him until he’s satisfied with the jellied substance now taking up residence where Dean’s bones used to be.

“You don’t have to hide things from me, Dean. I love you more than an addict loves his next hit, and nothing could change that, _especially_ not something as fuckin’ erotic as your smokin’ body in luxurious fabrics.” He grabs Dean’s chin between gentle fingers and tilts his head back to stare into his eyes. “Got it?”

Dean’s eyes trace over Roman’s face from his concern creased brow to his blow-job blushed lips, and there’s a million things he wants to say, a million ways he wants to tell Roman that he loves him, but he settles for, “Got it.” and hopes that Roman can see the rest plastered brightly on his face like Las Vegas neon.

Roman’s answering LED smile tells Dean that he can. 

**End******

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kinktober 2018 Day 11 prompt - Cross-dressing.


End file.
